[Roxas scrawls away in childish handwriting; he's not wearing any gloves, and eventually his fingers are simply too cold to hold the pencil. So he shuts his book, crawling around the opposite side of the tree, and laying his head in the orphan's lap.]
[Maybe it's hard to tell-- he, she, it; Xion never puts her hood down and Roxas has never asked her to-- but right here is the best friend he could've asked for, even if neither of them understood Christmas at all.]
silly. just because you have a next life--
[Maybe it's hard to tell-- he, she, it; Xion never puts her hood down and Roxas has never asked her to-- but right here is the best friend he could've asked for, even if neither of them understood Christmas at all.]
It's cold.